Gospel Story Finder

The faithful widowed mother who raised us had no confusion about the eternal nature of the family. She always honored the position of our deceased father. She made him a presence in our home. She spoke of the eternal duration of their temple marriage. She often reminded us of what our father would like us to do so we could realize the Savior’s promise that we could be a family forever.
I recall an experience that shows the effect of her teachings. Just before Christmas one year, our bishop asked me, as a deacon, to help him deliver Christmas baskets to the widows of the ward. I carried a basket to each door with his greetings. When he drove me home, there was one basket remaining. He handed it to me and said it was for my mother. As he drove away, I stood in the falling snow wondering why there was a basket for my mother. She never referred to herself as a widow, and it had never occurred to me that she was. To a 12-year-old boy, she wasn’t a widow. She had a husband, and we had a father. He was just away for a while.
I anticipate that glorious future day when the separated will be reunited and all of us will be made complete as the Lord has promised. I testify of Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of the Eternal Father, whose priesthood authority and whose Atonement and Resurrection make it all possible, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

My extended family has a fun tradition. For holidays, reunions, or other special occasions, we like to take my uncle’s boat from Tongatapu, the main island of Tonga, to a beautiful outer island called Pangaimotu. There, we spend the whole day playing volleyball or pool, kayaking and, of course, eating and swimming.
On arrival to Pangaimotu, our boat is anchored just outside its lagoon, and a smaller boat ferries the adults to shore. The kids—my cousins and siblings—never like to wait for transport. They prefer to swim from our big boat to the shore, and then, at the end of our day-long excursion, they would all swim back.
When I was younger, I’d always want to join them, but that swim was difficult for me because the water near our boat was deep. It scared me to not be able to touch the ground with my feet—I was sure something would grab me and pull me down. Plus, the distance between the shore and the boat seemed so far. What if I got tired before I got there?
My dad knew how important it was for me to make that swim.
As the sun began to set on yet another Pangaimotu day, he called me over to him. He was going to help me to get from the shore to the boat.
Dad walked with me past the shallows and into the deeper water. As soon as I could no longer feel the ground under me, I got scared and tried to cling to him, but he wouldn’t allow it. Frustrated, I shed a few tears, but my dad just stayed beside me and encouraged me to keep swimming.
At one point, as much as I flailed my arms and kicked my legs, I felt like I wasn’t going anywhere. I was so tired! My dad gently suggested that I change my swimming position.
I concentrated so closely on his voice, on my breathing and on just moving, that I barely noticed we had arrived at the boat—much sooner than I had expected.
A warm feeling of accomplishment came over me after I climbed on board, and I realized that somewhere along that journey—as I focused on my swimming and on my dad—I lost my fear of the ocean.
Over the years, I have made that swim, back and forth, many times without fear. What once seemed so difficult has now become so easy.
I think about how my dad guided me on my first successful swim out to the boat. He was kind, but firm. He let me experience difficulties for myself, but he stayed close beside me the entire journey. At times I panicked and protested, but he continually encouraged me with patience and love.

Forgive me for a personal conclusion, which does not represent the terrible burdens so many of you carry but it is meant to be encouraging. Thirty years ago last month, a little family set out to cross the United States to attend graduate school—no money, an old car, every earthly possession they owned packed into less than half the space of the smallest U-Haul trailer available. Bidding their apprehensive parents farewell, they drove exactly 34 miles up the highway, at which point their beleaguered car erupted.
Pulling off the freeway onto a frontage road, the young father surveyed the steam, matched it with his own, then left his trusting wife and two innocent children—the youngest just three months old—to wait in the car while he walked the three miles or so to the southern Utah metropolis of Kanarraville, population then, I suppose, 65. Some water was secured at the edge of town, and a very kind citizen offered a drive back to the stranded family. The car was attended to and slowly—very slowly—driven back to St. George for inspection—U-Haul trailer and all.
After more than two hours of checking and rechecking, no immediate problem could be detected, so once again the journey was begun. In exactly the same amount of elapsed time at exactly the same location on that highway with exactly the same pyrotechnics from under the hood, the car exploded again. It could not have been 15 feet from the earlier collapse, probably not 5 feet from it! Obviously the most precise laws of automotive physics were at work.
Now feeling more foolish than angry, the chagrined young father once more left his trusting loved ones and started the long walk for help once again. This time the man providing the water said, “Either you or that fellow who looks just like you ought to get a new radiator for that car.” For the second time a kind neighbor offered a lift back to the same automobile and its anxious little occupants. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at the plight of this young family.
“How far have you come?” he said. “Thirty-four miles,” I answered. “How much farther do you have to go?” “Twenty-six hundred miles,” I said. “Well, you might make that trip, and your wife and those two little kiddies might make that trip, but none of you are going to make it in that car.” He proved to be prophetic on all counts.
Just two weeks ago this weekend, I drove by that exact spot where the freeway turnoff leads to a frontage road, just three miles or so west of Kanarraville, Utah. That same beautiful and loyal wife, my dearest friend and greatest supporter for all these years, was curled up asleep in the seat beside me. The two children in the story, and the little brother who later joined them, have long since grown up and served missions, married perfectly, and are now raising children of their own. The automobile we were driving this time was modest but very pleasant and very safe. In fact, except for me and my lovely Pat situated so peacefully at my side, nothing of that moment two weeks ago was even remotely like the distressing circumstances of three decades earlier.
Yet in my mind’s eye, for just an instant, I thought perhaps I saw on that side road an old car with a devoted young wife and two little children making the best of a bad situation there. Just ahead of them I imagined that I saw a young fellow walking toward Kanarraville, with plenty of distance still ahead of him. His shoulders seemed to be slumping a little, the weight of a young father’s fear evident in his pace. In the scriptural phrase his hands did seem to “hang down.” In that imaginary instant, I couldn’t help calling out to him: “Don’t give up, boy. Don’t you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead—a lot of it—30 years of it now, and still counting. You keep your chin up. It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come.”

When my wife, Rosana, and I married two years after my mission, we were sealed in the temple with a vision of raising our own eternal family. To do so, we worked together to create family traditions like the ones our parents had taught us, all focused on the Savior, His teachings, and the teachings of His modern-day prophets.
Today our children are raising their children with the same gospel principles of happiness. For us, family is everything because we understand the centrality of the family in God’s plan.
As a General Authority, I had the blessing of sealing my three children to their spouses in the temple. Looking into their eyes the moment they knelt at the altar in the temple was a beautiful experience. I could see my posterity being blessed by the same gospel principles my parents had taught me and that Rosana and I had taught them. I could see those blessings continuing in future generations. And I was reminded of who makes it all possible.

As I have visited stake conferences and other meetings in recent years, I have carried President Thomas S. Monson’s call to rescue the less-active members of the Church. At one stake conference I told a story of a less-active member who returned to full activity after his bishop and other leaders visited him in his home, told him he was needed, and called him to serve in the ward. The man in the story not only accepted the call but also changed his life and habits and became fully active in the Church.

A friend of mine was in the congregation to which I told that story. His countenance visibly changed as the story was told. He sent me an e-mail the next day telling me that his emotional reaction to the story was because his father-in-law’s story of returning to activity in the Church was very similar to the one that I had told. He told me that as a result of a similar visit by a bishop and an invitation to serve in the Church, his father-in-law reevaluated his life and his testimony, made major changes in his life, and accepted the call. That reactivated man now has 88 descendants who are active members of the Church.

At a meeting a few days later, I told both stories. The next day I received another e-mail which began, “That’s my father’s story too.” That e-mail, from a stake president, told how his father was invited to serve in the Church even though he had not been active and had some habits that needed changing. He accepted the invitation and, in the process, repented, eventually served as a stake president and then a mission president, and laid the foundation for his posterity to be faithful members of the Church.

A few weeks later I told all three stories in another stake conference. After the meeting a man came to me and told me that that was not his father’s story. It was his story. He told me of the events that led him to repent and come back to full involvement in the Church. And so it went. As I carried the call to rescue the less active, I saw and heard story after story of people who responded to invitations to come back and change their lives. I heard story after story of redemption.

One weekend I woke up and was unable to hear in my left ear. I called an ear, nose, and throat doctor and made an appointment.
The doctor immediately sent me to an audiologist for a hearing test. I began to worry when I could not hear any of the test sounds in my left ear. At the end of the test, the audiologist concluded that I had sensorineural hearing loss, meaning a cranial nerve used in hearing was damaged.
I was shocked. I was only 26 years old and was already discussing the need for a hearing aid. One of my biggest passions is music. Would I still be able to play my instruments and sing?
The doctor prescribed a steroid to see if it would help, but he was positive my hearing loss was permanent.
My emotions soon got the better of me, and tears flooded my eyes. I was afraid of what the future would bring, and I was sad that I would never hear normally again.
That night my husband, Brian, suggested that he give me a priesthood blessing. I expected that the blessing would give me comfort and strength to deal with my hearing loss, but instead Brian promised in his blessing that my hearing would be fully restored. I couldn’t believe it.
“My husband must be mistaken,” I thought. The doctor had seen many cases like mine and said that my hearing would not return.
Afterward, I asked Brian if he thought the promised blessing was his will or the Lord’s. Brian told me he had felt a strong prompting to make the promise. I wasn’t convinced.
As I pondered my condition, I remembered a scripture in the book of Mark where Jesus tells a desperate father that “all things are possible to him that believeth.” The man responded, “Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief” (Mark 9:23–24). This was my plea to my Heavenly Father that night. I wanted to believe that I would be healed, but I was unsure. I lacked faith the Lord would help me in my crisis.
After my prayer I thought about a lesson I had taught the young women about the power of priesthood blessings. I had told the class to ask for blessings and that the Lord can heal the sick through blessings. How could I expect them to believe me if I lacked faith? I decided to put my trust in the Lord—He had not lied to me before.
Two weeks later, my hearing completely returned. The audiologist and doctor were shocked.
I will forever be grateful to Heavenly Father that my hearing was restored, but I am even more grateful for the lesson I learned. Even if it’s not always in the way we are promised in a blessing, I know the Lord will bless us if we put our faith and trust in Him.

While serving as mission president, I had the pleasure of meeting personally with each of our young missionaries every six weeks. During the one-on-one meeting, it was common for missionaries to seek guidance on how to improve the effectiveness of their companionships.
On one occasion, a missionary came into his personal interview and sat down. I could tell from his body language that something was weighing heavily on his mind. I asked, “Elder, what would you like to discuss today?” He went on to describe some of the challenges he was having with his companion and how it was affecting their ability to do missionary work. With tears in his eyes, he looked at me and asked, “President, what should I do?”
In that instance, I honestly didn’t know how to respond. After a brief moment, I asked him if it was OK for us to kneel together in prayer for guidance from the Spirit. He agreed, and we knelt together and prayed for inspiration.
After the prayer, we continued kneeling for a short time and then sat in our chairs facing each other. I asked if we could read a scripture together. As we opened our scriptures, I paused and told him, “Elder, as we read this scripture, please ask yourself the following question: If I live these attributes, will it improve my companionship and our missionary work?”
Then we opened Moroni 7:45 and read out loud: “And charity suffereth long, and is kind, and envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, and rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in the truth, beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.”
The elder then looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “Yes, President, but that is hard to do.” I agreed and reminded him that he is a son of God with divine potential to do it together with the Lord.
Then we briefly discussed the parable of the slope taught by Elder Clark G. Gilbert of the Seventy, which reminded us that we need to start where we are and, together with the Lord, move forward and upward in a positive direction. I could tell that he was still feeling a bit overwhelmed with the next steps, so I asked him to describe his understanding of the scripture “by small and simple things are great things brought to pass.” He went on to describe the concept that by doing small and simple things, great things can happen. I asked him to take a minute and identify two small and simple things he could do to be kind to his companion.
After a few moments, he shared his thoughts. Then I asked him to take a minute and identify two small and simple things he could do to be patient with his companion. He almost immediately shared his two thoughts. It was clear that he had already been pondering this before our meeting. I invited him to take those few items to God in prayer and to ask for confirmation, direction, and inspiration on how to execute his plan with real intent. He agreed. As we concluded, I asked him to provide a brief update in his weekly letter.
As the next few weeks went by, I could see in his weekly letters that things were improving. Not only could I see that improvement in his weekly letters, but I could also see it in the weekly letters of his companion. During our next in-person interview, I saw a night-and-day difference in his countenance and spirit. I asked him, “So, Elder, is it true that ‘charity never faileth?’” He responded with a big smile, “Yes, and by small and simple things are great things brought to pass.”

Many years ago I attended a stake conference in Star Valley, Wyoming, where the stake presidency was reorganized. The stake president who was being released, E. Francis Winters, had served faithfully for the lengthy term of 23 years. Though modest by nature and circumstance, he had been a perpetual pillar of strength to everyone in the valley. On the day of the stake conference, the building was filled to overflowing. Each heart seemed to be saying a silent thank-you to this noble leader who had given so unselfishly of his life for the benefit of others.

As I stood to speak, I was prompted to do something I had not done before, nor have I done so since. I stated how long Francis Winters had presided in the stake; then I asked all whom he had blessed or confirmed as children to stand and remain standing. Then I asked all those persons whom President Winters had ordained, set apart, personally counseled, or blessed to please stand. The outcome was electrifying. Every person in the audience rose to his or her feet. Tears flowed freely—tears which communicated better than could words the gratitude of tender hearts. I turned to President and Sister Winters and said, “We are witnesses today of the prompting of the Spirit. This vast throng reflects not only individual feelings but also the gratitude of God for a life well lived.” No person who was in the congregation that day will forget how he or she felt when we witnessed the language of the Spirit of the Lord.

When I was young, I was in the same ward as President Nelson. He was my stake president. It was a pretty big ward, so I don’t think he really knew me.
But I had a special experience with him when I became a deacon. I wanted to be very reverent when I passed the sacrament. I felt it was important. So I tried to show respect for the sacrament every Sunday.
I was walking home from church one Sunday when a car pulled up next to me. The driver rolled down the window. It was President Nelson! He said, “I noticed that you were very reverent when you passed the sacrament. Thank you for doing that.”
He might not remember saying that. But I’ll never forget it. He took time to tell me that he thought I had done something good. It meant a lot to me.

“When I started the challenge to focus on the joy in my life for a month, I honestly wasn’t expecting much to change. However, when I actually studied the talk by President Nelson and tried doing as he instructed, I noticed something: focusing on the joy and good things in my life (even ‘worldly’ things) really helped put it in perspective.

“One Saturday I was stuck inside working on a big chemistry lab report that was due on Monday. I was annoyed that I had to do homework at all on the weekends, and I felt like I was wasting my Saturday. Then my mom came into my room and told me that we would be going to visit my older brother and sister at their college. I could have stayed upset at the chemistry report and let it overshadow the good thing that had just come into my life. But instead, because I had decided to focus on joy, the frustration I felt from my chemistry report seemed instantly insignificant next to the happiness I felt thinking about hugging my older siblings again.

“When I focused on joy, I started to notice the things that I have and should be grateful for. When I don’t focus on the bad, and I see all the good in my life, the bad things pale in comparison.”

Luke G., 17, Arizona, USA

As a student at Utah State Agricultural College (now Utah State University), Ezra mustered the courage to ask Flora Amussen for a date. The youngest of the six children raised by her widowed mother, Flora was “the most popular girl in town,” a tennis star, actress, student-body vice-president, and a leader in many activities. Nevertheless, the “farm boy” continued what he described as an “inspirational and soul-satisfying courtship.”
But the romance was postponed by Elder Benson’s mission call to England. He labored in Newcastle, where he became a mission leader. He often dressed in the plain clothes of a workman while preaching to the unemployed on the streets. After two and a half years, he returned home and proposed to Flora. But she decided to serve a mission herself. When she returned from Hawaii, he had graduated from Brigham Young University. They were finally married in the Salt Lake Temple on September 10, 1926.

Twenty-three-year-old Tom Monson, relatively new bishop of the Sixth-Seventh Ward in the Temple View Stake, Salt Lake City, was unusually restless as the stake priesthood leadership meeting progressed. He had the distinct impression that he should leave the meeting immediately and drive to the Veterans’ Hospital high up on the avenues of the city. Before leaving home that night he had received a telephone call informing him that an older member of his ward was ill and had been admitted to the hospital for care. Could the bishop, the caller wondered, find a moment to go by the hospital sometime and give a blessing? The busy young leader explained that he was just on his way to a stake meeting but that he certainly would be pleased to go by the hospital as soon as the meeting was concluded.
Now the prompting was stronger than ever: “Leave the meeting and proceed to the hospital at once.” But the stake president himself was speaking at the pulpit! It would be most discourteous to stand in the middle of the presiding officer’s message, make one’s way over an entire row of brethren, and then exit the building altogether. Painfully he waited out the final moments of the stake president’s message, then ran for the door even before the closing prayer had been said.
Running the full length of the corridor on the fourth floor of the hospital, the young bishop saw some extra activity outside the designated room. A nurse stopped him and said, “Are you Bishop Monson?”
“Yes,” was the anxious reply.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “The patient was calling your name just before he died.”
Fighting back the tears, Thomas S. Monson turned and walked back into the night. He vowed then and there that he would never again fail to act upon a prompting from the Lord. He would acknowledge the impressions of the Spirit when they came, and he would follow wherever they led him, ever to be “on the Lord’s errand.”

Danny was always drawing doodles. He drew doodles around the pictures in his coloring books. He drew doodles on his drawing paper. Sometimes he even drew doodles on his bedroom walls. But most often Danny drew doodles at school when he should have been studying.
Miss Phillips, Danny’s teacher, wanted him to learn to read. Danny’s father and mother wanted him to learn to read. Even Danny’s little brother, Tommy, wanted him to learn to read so that Danny could read stories to him when their mother was busy with the baby. And Danny wanted to learn to read so he could read all of the books he saw on the shelves in the library.
When Miss Phillips said, “Class, it’s time to read now!” Danny took out his reading book, his marker, his writing tablet, and his pencil. But instead of reading, Danny kept his pencil busy drawing doodle drawings. Doodle here, doodle there, doodle everywhere! Before long Danny had forgotten all about learning to read.
Time went so fast when Danny was drawing doodles that he was surprised one Monday morning to hear Miss Phillips say, “Class, reading time is over and it’s time for recess now.” Danny was even more surprised to hear Miss Phillips say, “Danny, will you please stay inside while the other children go out to play?”
“Yes, Miss Phillips,” Danny answered meekly.
Oh dear, thought Danny, Miss Phillips must have seen me drawing doodles again!
Danny sat quietly in his seat and watched his friends hurry outside to play. Soon Miss Phillips asked him to come up to her desk.
“Danny, how many pages did you read today?” Miss Phillips asked.
“Two pages,” Danny mumbled.
“That isn’t very much reading, is it?” Miss Phillips went on.
“No, Miss Phillips,” Danny admitted.
“You were drawing doodles again, weren’t you, Danny?” she questioned.
“Yes, Miss Phillips.”
“Danny, I know doodles are fun, but reading is fun too and very important. I have an idea,” said Miss Phillips. “If you will spend one whole week reading during reading time and not drawing doodles, then I’ll let you teach the art lesson to the class for one day and everyone can draw doodles. How does that sound, Danny?”
Danny’s face lit up, “Oh, that would be fun, Miss Phillips! Will you draw doodles too?”
“Yes, Danny, I will draw doodles too,” Miss Phillips answered, “and we can put our pictures up on the bulletin board for all the parents to see when they come to school.”
All that week Danny worked hard. Danny read lots and lots of pages in his reading book. Whenever he started to doodle, Danny would quietly put his pencil down on the desk. Then he would look up at Miss Phillips and smile.
The next Monday Danny taught the art class and showed everyone how to draw doodles. Danny had had more practice than many of his friends, even Miss Phillips, so of course his doodles were a little better than any of the others. When all of the boys and girls were through with their doodling, Miss Phillips arranged the pictures on the bulletin board.
That night the parents came to visit. They saw the desks and books, and then they saw the bulletin board where Miss Phillips had printed the words DANNY’S DOODLES. All the doodle pictures were there.
Danny’s mother saw his doodles. “That one looks just like a boy reading a book!” she laughed.
“Yes, it does,” Danny’s father agreed.
Miss Phillips was standing nearby. Her eyes twinkled as she said, “And Danny told me today that he had decided that reading can be as much fun as drawing doodles.”

Alice wanted to watch the men who were helping Father cut big blocks of ice out on the pond. Instead she was in the kitchen, setting the table for Mother, Father, and the men.
Mother set a pan of biscuits in the oven. “You’ve been a good helper,” she said. “Would you please go call the men for dinner?”
“Oh, yes!” Alice said. Now she could see the ice being cut!
“Bundle up,” said Mother. “It’s cold.”
Alice got her coat and headed for the pond. She loved to skate there, but it was more than a playground. Father and the other men cut ice from the pond. They stored it in a shed called an icehouse. When the weather warmed up, people bought the ice and used it to keep their food fresh.
Alice climbed down the hill toward the pond. She saw Father with his horses, pulling a claw-shaped tool to mark the ice. Some of the men followed behind. They used the marks to guide them as they cut blocks. Others used poles to pull the blocks out of the water.
Alice called out. “Dinner! Hot stew and biscuits!”
Father was deaf, but he could guess why she had come. “Go on in,” he told the men. “I’m going to stay and lift my marker out so it won’t get stuck in the ice.”
Alice waited while Father finished. Three big blocks floated nearby. She picked up a pole. She pulled in one block, then two. But the last block was just out of reach.
Then Alice noticed another block near her. It had been cut on the sides but not on the end. The men had left it attached to ice that touched the shore. It seemed like the perfect place to stand and reach the block still floating in the water. Alice stepped onto it. As she stretched out her arm, the ice broke.
Crack! With a splash, she fell into the water.
Alice screamed. She tried to keep her head above the water and saw Father turn toward her. He couldn’t hear her, but he must have seen the splash! Just as her head dipped below the freezing water, she felt something tugging her toward shore. It was Father, using an ice pole. He picked Alice up and ran for home.
Alice could feel her body shivering. She knew a bad chill could make people very sick. The winter air was freezing her wet clothes. She was becoming stiff and cold, like a block of ice.
Finally they were home. Father pushed the door open. The workers stood up. Mother ran to the door. “What happened?” she asked.
“Get the oil,” Father said. Mother brought a small bottle of oil that had been blessed by the priesthood.
Father spoke to the men. “If you hold the priesthood and are worthy, please help me give Alice a blessing.” Several men stepped forward. Alice felt Father put a drop of oil on her head. She closed her eyes. He said something about authority and priesthood. Then the others put their hands on her head too. Father spoke. “In the name of Jesus Christ, we bless you that you will have a speedy recovery.” Alice could feel her body relax. Her fear was melting away.
Father finished the blessing. Alice opened her eyes and smiled. She stretched her fingers and wiggled her toes.
“You’re like a cat with nine lives,” one man joked.
“No,” said Mother. “She’s the faithful daughter of a faithful father.”
Father could understand Mother by watching her lips. “I think Alice has a faithful mother too,” he said. “And good neighbors. Heavenly Father will bless her. She will be fine.”
Alice never even caught a cold that winter. She remembered her father’s blessing and lived to tell this story to her grandchildren and her great-grandchildren.

“Time to get up, Kristina,” Mother called. Kristina rubbed her eyes and started to grumble about the early hour until she remembered. Today was Sunday.
Ever since they were baptized and confirmed members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, things had been different in her family. Kristina liked the difference.
Mother’s face had a new softness to it, as though happiness came from inside and she couldn’t keep it to herself. She had started humming around the house. Kristina found herself humming, too. Father spent more time at home, and sometimes he took long walks with Kristina and her mother. Often they sat on the front porch and talked. Kristina liked those times best.
Now her parents paid tithing and encouraged Kristina to pay it, too. She enjoyed slipping the tithing from her allowance into an envelope and handing it to one of the members of the bishopric. It was one way to show Heavenly Father and Jesus how much she loved Them.
But the biggest difference Kristina noticed was inside herself. Knowing that Heavenly Father and Jesus loved her filled her with such happiness that she sometimes felt as if she would burst.
Kristina still remembered the look on her father’s face when he answered the door three months ago and found two missionaries on the porch. He had invited the young men inside. After introducing themselves, the elders had talked about families. “Would you like to know how your family can be together forever?” Elder Stark asked.
Kristina’s parents exchanged glances, their eyes filled with longing.
“More than anything,” Kristina’s mother said.
Father had asked the missionaries to come back. On each visit, they presented a lesson. When they challenged the family to be baptized, Kristina’s parents immediately said yes.
“You’re nine years old, Kristina,” Elder Sanderson said. “You’re old enough to be baptized, too.”
The day of her family’s baptisms was the most important day of her life. Kristina remembered every detail, especially the clean, warm feeling she had after the baptism.
Since that day, Kristina and her parents hadn’t missed a single church meeting.
Glancing at the clock, Kristina hurried to get dressed. She didn’t want to be late. She liked everything about church, especially her Primary class.
Kristina’s family arrived a few minutes early. They listened to the soft organ music. Today was fast and testimony meeting. Kristina liked listening to the testimonies. Someday, she promised herself, she would share her testimony.
At family home evening the following night, Kristina’s family took turns reading from the Book of Mormon. Kristina stumbled over some of the words, but she enjoyed reading about Nephi and his family building a boat to take them across the ocean.
When Kristina came home after school on Tuesday, she found her mother in the backyard digging neat rows of shallow ditches. “What are you doing, Mom?”
Mother looked up and smiled. “Getting ready to plant a garden.”
“A garden?” Kristina echoed. “We’ve never had a garden.”
Mother put down the spade and wiped her forehead. “We want to become as self-sufficient as we can, like the prophet told us to.”
Kristina understood now. It was part of the difference. She smiled as a warm feeling grew inside her.
Kristina’s mother handed her a packet of seeds. “You can drop these in, and I’ll cover them with dirt.”
An hour later, Kristina rocked back on her heels. Corn, beans, peas, radishes, onions—they’d planted them all. Her arms and back hurt, but it was a good kind of ache, the kind that comes from working hard to accomplish a goal.
That evening during dinner, she watched her parents smile at each other. They smiled a lot lately, another difference. It made Kristina smile, too.
“How long will we have to wait before we can go to the temple?” she asked her father later as they sat on the porch. Her last Primary lesson had been about temples.
“We have to wait a year after our baptism,” he said. “Then we can be sealed together as a family for time and all eternity.”
Tears pricked Kristina’s eyes that night as she said her prayers. A peaceful feeling settled over her like a warm blanket. The baptism difference was the best thing that had ever happened to her family.

“Can Christopher come out and play?”
Christopher heard his friend’s cheerful voice at the front door. He sprinted to the living room. Before his mother could say a word, Christopher had already reached the front door to greet his friend Ben.
Ben and Christopher weren’t only good friends—they were best friends. Nearly every day the boys enjoyed playing basketball, digging holes in the backyard, catching fireflies, or doing some other fun activity. Christopher was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and Ben wasn’t. But the two boys still had a lot of fun together.
“What do you want to do today?” Christopher asked. He bent over to tie his shoes, still caked with mud from his puddle-jumping competition with Ben the day before.
“Let’s go ride bikes,” Ben said.
The boys raced down the creaky porch steps and grabbed their bikes. When Ben discovered that the chain on his bike had come loose, he yelled out a bad word that sent a chill up Christopher’s neck.
Christopher had a bad feeling inside. He knew Heavenly Father didn’t want people to say words like the word Ben just said.
“I don’t really like that word,” Christopher told Ben. “We don’t say it at my house.”
Ben slowly lifted his head to look at Christopher. His eyebrows were scrunched down. He looked confused.
“What do you mean you don’t say that word at your house?” Ben asked.
“It’s just not a nice word, so we don’t say it,” Christopher replied.
“I don’t believe you,” Ben said. “Everybody says it. You have to say it.”
Christopher didn’t want to argue. He liked playing with Ben, but he knew that he needed to stand up for what he believed in.
“I’ve never said it, and I never will,” Christopher said. “You don’t have to say those kinds of words.”
“Whatever,” Ben said as he grabbed his bike and turned toward his house. “I’m going home,” he muttered as he trudged down the road.
Christopher felt bad that Ben was mad. He didn’t want to hurt Ben’s feelings. As he turned around to walk back into his house, he was surprised to see his mother standing in the doorway with a half-smile on her face.
As Christopher walked up the porch steps, Mom knelt down on one knee so she could look him in the eyes. “I’m very proud of you, Christopher,” she said. “It took a lot of courage for you to say what you said.”
“I believe I made Heavenly Father happy,” Christopher said. “But I think Ben is angry.”
“Everything will be fine,” Mom said. “Heavenly Father blesses us when we are obedient. You’ll see.”
The next morning, Christopher heard a knock on his front door. He hoped it was Ben. Several questions ran through Christopher’s head as he turned the doorknob. Would Ben still be mad? Would he call him names? Could they still be friends?
Christopher opened the door and prepared for the worst.
“Hi, Chris,” Ben said. “Do you want to play?”
Ben’s eyebrows weren’t scrunched down like they were the day before. He had a smile on his face. He wasn’t mad anymore. Christopher was happy.
“Sure, let’s go,” Christopher answered as he jumped outside.
Christopher never heard Ben use another bad word again. He knew his mother was right—Heavenly Father does bless us when we have the courage to stand up for the right.

Latter-day Saints in Memphis, Tennessee, are working with the NAACP to help mothers and babies and reduce infant mortality rates.

In Tennessee, USA, some Latter-day Saints have joined with brothers and sisters of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) to help mothers and their babies thrive in an area that has one of the United States’ highest infant mortality rates. This effort is helping carry out the vision President Russell M. Nelson outlined in 2021 of the two organizations coming together in community service.8

In November 2022, four members of the Dudley family from the Memphis Tennessee Stake gathered with several dozen people at the NAACP Memphis Branch to pass out fliers about a program of classes designed to help new and expectant mothers better care for their children.

“We had the opportunity to knock on the door of a woman that is pregnant right now,” said Marc Allan Dudley, who distributed fliers with his wife, Sonya, and two of their daughters. “Her eyes kind of lit up, and she was thankful for the program. … People are happy that somebody notices that there’s an issue and that there’s somebody doing something about it.”

“This partnership is God ordained and God inspired,” added NAACP Memphis Branch president Van Turner. “I’m just so happy that it’s happening at such a critical time in our city. We’re dealing with public safety, we’re dealing with homelessness, we’re dealing with poverty. [It’s critical to address] the origin of humanity, when these young people are in the womb, and try to make sure they get the proper care while in the womb [and then] come out and survive and be healthy. Once that happens, they have a great start in life.”9

On Christmas morning, Liam woke up extra early. He sneaked into the living room with his two younger sisters, Holly and Sarah. There, seven homemade stockings hung in a row. Some were small and wide. Some were long and thin. And some were so old that their colours had faded. But the important thing for Liam was that each stocking was filled with yummy sweets.
Liam grabbed his stocking and turned it upside down. He frowned. There was one candy cane, an orange, and only a handful of sweets.
“Is this it?” he asked.
Holly and Sarah were frowning too. Then Liam grinned. Maybe this meant his present would be really good! He hoped it was that new video game all his friends were playing.
But when Liam finally opened his present, his disappointment only grew. His gift was a purple teddy bear. It was handmade, with black button eyes and a little stitched smile.
“Merry Christmas, Liam,” Mum said with a big smile.
Liam did not smile. This was not the present he wanted.
His little sisters got stuffed animals too, and so did his three older sisters. But that didn’t make Liam feel better. This was the worst Christmas ever!
“What’s wrong?” his older sister Erin asked after breakfast. “You’ve been grumpy all morning.”
“I don’t really like my present,” he said. “It’s just a teddy bear Mum made. Why didn’t she give me something I wanted?”
Erin smiled. “Come with me.”
She took him to Mum’s bedroom and pointed at the old sewing machine on the table.
“It’s Mum’s sewing machine,” he said. “So what?”
“What else do you see?”
Liam frowned. He saw sewing needles, colourful thread, and some folded pieces of fabric. He also saw a bag of stuffing, soft and fluffy like a cloud.
“I know you wanted Mum to buy you something else for Christmas,” Erin said. “But we don’t have the money for that. I love the teddy bear Mum made me. It shows how much she loves me.”
“What do you mean?”
“It takes time to make a stuffed toy. It takes patience. Mum sat at this table for hours making a toy for each of us. She made sure we each got a present. Don’t you think that means she loves us?”
Liam touched the purple fabric that Mum had used to make his teddy bear. Maybe Erin was right. A present didn’t need to be fancy to be a good gift. In Primary, Liam had learned that Jesus was the greatest gift, and Jesus was born in a simple stable.
Liam ran to find Mum. He gave her a big hug. “Thank you for the teddy bear,” he said.
He didn’t think the teddy bear was so silly now. Even if there had been no gifts at all, he felt his family’s love. And that made it a special Christmas.
This story took place in New Zealand.

When the Civil War erupted, Louisa felt a need to do her part. In 1862, she moved to Washington, D.C., and served as a nurse in the Union Army. She worked hard and got very little sleep because of her concern for the wounded soldiers. She became a trusted friend of many of the young patients. However, after only a few weeks at the hospital, Louisa became very ill with typhoid fever. Her father arrived in time to take her back home, where fresh air, rest, and her mother’s care helped her to recover. Later Louisa compiled the letters that she had written to her family from Washington about the suffering soldiers into a book called Hospital Sketches.

One day, my brother Rick and I decided to go goose hunting. That day we had success and both of us shot a goose. With the two geese in the car, we dreaded what was to come. Our father had taught us that we hunt for food. We knew that meant we would have to pluck both of these large birds and prepare them to be put in the freezer.
As we drove home, we talked about how hard it was to pluck a goose. We tried to find ways to get out of the job.
“Wait a minute,” said Rick. “Didn’t Brother Owen lose his job?”
“Yeah,” I replied.
“Maybe they need food,” said Rick.
We decided it would be a good deed for us to deliver some food to their door. (Of course, we were much more interested in getting out of the work than in doing a good deed.) We dumped the geese on the Owens’ doorstep, rang the doorbell, and ran back to the car as fast as we could. As we drove away, we were excited that we had found a way to avoid the work of plucking the geese.
The next day was fast Sunday. Brother Owen was the first one up to bear his testimony. He explained that he had lost his job and his family was struggling to get by. The night before, he was getting his three daughters ready for bed. They were crying because they were hungry and there was no food. His oldest daughter, still in Primary, explained that if they prayed, Heavenly Father would bring them food.
Brother Owen was overcome by the faith of his daughter. With tears in his eyes, he asked his daughter to pray. He explained that she had said a simple prayer, explaining to Heavenly Father that she and her family were hungry. Then she asked Heavenly Father to bring them food. As the prayer ended, the family was surprised by a knock on the door. They opened the door and found not one, but two large geese sitting on the doorstep. They thanked Heavenly Father for such a quick answer to their prayer. Brother Owen testified that God answers prayers and sat down. Rick and I had tears in our eyes.
From then on, every time my brother and I went hunting, we would drop our birds on the doorstep and run to the car. We left pheasants, ducks, quail, doves, and even some fish.
One day, as we were emptying the birds from our vests onto the Owens’ front porch, the door opened. Brother Owen stood in the doorway.
“I thought it was you,” said Brother Owen.
We apologized for leaving the birds there without cleaning them. He assured us that he was happy to clean the birds, and he was thankful for all the food we had left him. He told us how much he appreciated our thoughtfulness.
Initially, my brother and I had been trying to avoid the responsibility of cleaning after a hunt. But our loving Heavenly Father was able to use us to bless the lives of others. Now I look for opportunities to bless the lives of others—not to get out of work, but to be an instrument in God’s hands.